Kiss and Cry

“He’s dedicated.”

“Yeah, but so am I. I’m just not going to give myself an injury going too hard. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to win.”

“Wanting to win and dedication aren’t quite the same thing,” Mr. Webber said dryly.

That stung, even if it was true. “But Henry’s so cold. There’s no passion there.”

“It’s true that he’s very internal. He interprets the music beautifully, but he doesn’t connect to the audience the way you do. I wouldn’t say there’s no passion. He’s controlled, but he loves skating. He puts effort and care into every movement.”

I got up from my bed, which was a mattress on the floor of my small condo. It was a studio with only the bathroom truly separate, the kitchen half open to the living space. Pacing, I insisted, “I love skating too.”

“If you say so.”

“I do! I’m good at it. I’ve always been good at it.”

“You have, Theo.”

Now he was humoring me. I wanted to argue more, but he said he was going to nap, so we said goodbye. I still paced, weirdly unsettled.

Even though I probably wouldn’t have made skating my career if my mom hadn’t pushed me, I couldn’t imagine what else I’d do. I’d graduated high school, but what would I even study if I went to college?

I was good at skating. There was money to be made on Asian tours and through endorsements. I’d always thought I’d be a good coach one day. Working with kids would be awesome, though I wasn’t the organized type. Henry would be great at that, but he’d be no fun. Though he’d probably be excellent at teaching technique.

Why was I thinking about Henry so much? Shaking my head, I flopped back on my mattress and logged in to Twitch to see what my favorite streamer was playing today. I wished I had a couch. Henry probably had a couch. He probably had a matching living room set like my parents. He—

There I went again, thinking about Henry.

“They’re spending more time with Sakaguchi than you.”

It took every ounce of control not to hang up without saying a word. Why had I answered? Well, because she had called ten times in a row, and it was easier to just talk to her and get it over with so I could go back to my Instagram scrolling.

“Hello to you too, Mom.”

“Why were you working with the assistant today?”

“Because Manon and Bill were busy with their other students. There’s a schedule, and I have no problem doing sessions with Marc.”

“Well, I have a problem with it!”

My control frayed. “Good thing I’m an adult, and it’s not up to you anymore!” Breathing deeply, I glanced around the bleachers. It was just after six p.m., when there was a dinnertime lull before the evening city-run recreational lessons for kids started.

“All those years, I sacrificed to help you, and this is the thanks I get.”

Thumping my head back against the orange brick wall, I closed my eyes, gripping the phone’s screen to my ear. “I never had a choice. You were bound and determined to make me a champion.”

“And I did!” Her voice wavered, going tight and high. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“I know.” We’d had this conversation hundreds of times. I knew exactly what she’d say next, and she did, right on cue.

“It’s only because I love you.” She sniffled.

“I love you too, Mom.” What else could I say? I did love her. And she did love me, even if her ambition and obsessive nature drove me bananas. She wasn’t going to change, so I had to deal with it.

“I just want you to have the best. You’re so talented, my darling. If those coaches—”

“My coaches are doing a great job. I’m sure your rink spy reported that I’m even doing full run-throughs. Sometimes.” Her spy was likely another skating parent—there were few secrets at a training rink and even more gossip.

“You should be doing as many as Sakaguchi. I can hear his music!”

“Moonlight Sonata” was indeed echoing through the almost-empty rink. “My sessions are over for today. I started early and everything.” Now I was waiting to catch a ride back with Henry, though I sure as hell wasn’t telling my mother. It was only a matter of time before her spy filled her in on that development. “How’s Dad?”

I could practically hear the shrug. “Fine. Working late.”

“And the girls?”

Here was Mom’s chance to bitch about my sisters, and she seized it in her jaws like a crocodile. I hmmed and ahhed, tuning her out while I watched Henry launch into his flying sit spin.

He didn’t have my natural flexibility, but he still got down really low, his free leg extended ramrod straight and his upper body in a difficult twisted position. His spins didn’t drift, and he kept the speed even with the harder variation.